The Dead Will Tell

by Linda Castillo

  I nod, understanding. “You were a kid. You didn’t know someone would act on that information.”

  “God punished me. I deserved it.”

  “The only people responsible for what happened are Blue Branson and the others.” I reach out and touch his shoulder. “Thank you for telling me what happened. I know it wasn’t easy.”

  He raises his head, his cheeks wet. “I hear them sometimes,” he whispers. “When I go out there. I hear them crying for me from the basement.”

  I don’t know what to say to that, so I say nothing.

  He blows out a shuddery breath. “What happens next?”

  “I’m going to find Ruth Weaver.”

  * * *

  The weight of Hoch’s grief follows me on the drive back to the station. Guilt is always a bad thing, but it’s somehow worse when you’re Amish. It’s times like this when I need Tomasetti most. He’s been on my mind on and off all day, mostly on, despite the fact that I’m fully engaged with the case. I’ve wanted to call him a dozen times, but each time I somehow convinced myself not to. Finally, sitting in my Explorer outside the police station, knowing I’m not going to make it home anytime soon, I hit the speed dial for our home number.

  He answers with his usual, “Hey, Chief.”

  “Things are heating up with this case,” I tell him. “I just wanted to let you know … I’m not going to make it home tonight.”

  “Everything all right?”

  I recap the events of the day, and I hear him sigh on the other end of the line. I consider telling him about my plan to stake out Blue Branson’s place tonight, but I don’t want to worry him, so I don’t mention it.

  “You’ve had a busy day.”

  “Yeah.”

  “For a moment there, I thought maybe you were avoiding me.”

  “I was, but now that I’m talking to you, I can’t imagine why.”

  He laughs. “I’m going to have to think about that one.”

  From my place at the wheel, I watch T.J. pull up in his usual parking slot a few spaces down from where I’m sitting and walk into the station. “Tomasetti, this woman has lived off the grid her entire life. She was homeschooled. As an adult, she didn’t get a driver’s license. No credit cards in her name. There’s not a single photo of her I could find. No one knows anything about her.”

  “It sounds like her mother’s death put something into motion,” he says. “Maybe before she died, the mother made some deathbed confession that set this woman off. The daughter, distraught and without a support system, took it upon herself to mete out a little payback.”

  “What if Ruth Weaver is a result of the rape? What if Wanetta Hochstetler knew it and some part of her hated her daughter for it. What if, over the course of her daughter’s life, Wanetta put her on this path?”

  “There is a twisted sort of logic to that.”

  “Hatred can take on a lot of different faces.”

  “What else do you know about her?” he asks.

  “We know she’s armed. Probably bat-shit crazy. Determined.”

  “If I were Blue Branson, I’d be looking over my shoulder.”

  “He’s in custody.”

  In the interminable silence that follows, I groan inwardly because I know he’s just figured out how I’m going to be spending the night. “So when were you going to tell me you’re going to camp out at Blue Branson’s place?”

  “I was going to try to avoid that, if possible.”

  “And you accused me of not being honest?”

  “That’s a different kind of honesty.”

  “Goddamn it, Kate.”

  “Tell me you wouldn’t be doing the same thing,” I say defensively.

  “Aside from that being a bad idea, you don’t have the manpower for that kind of operation.”

  “We’re talking about a woman with a .22 revolver she may or may not know how to—”

  “Who’s going to be there to cover your back? Pickles? T.J.?”

  “Glock.”

  “I guess that makes everything all right, then, doesn’t it?” Sarcasm oozes from his every word.

  “Tomasetti, I can’t deal with your overreacting every time something dicey comes up with my job. I’m the chief of police. There’s a killer out there, and I know who the target is. Staking out Blue’s place is the best way to stop her, and you know it.”

  “What I know is that you should involve the sheriff’s office!”

  “And have five cruisers parked in front of Blue’s place? That’s pretty subtle.”

  We fall silent. My own words and the anger behind them ring in my ears, and I wonder when we came to this, shouting at each other over the phone. I wonder why I’m so angry. Why I can’t tell him I’m sorry. Maybe because I know he’s right, but I’m going to do this anyway.

  “Tomasetti,” I say after a moment.

  “I’m here.”

  “We have to stop doing this.”

  “I know.”

  “We need to talk—”

  “We need to spend some time together,” he cuts in snappishly.

  “When this case is over, I’ll take some time off. We can hang out at the farm and … grill hamburgers and drink wine and listen to the frogs.”

  “And fish.”

  My anger gives way to a sense of longing so powerful my chest aches. “I’m good at what I do. You’re going to have to trust me. There’s no one else.”

  “Who’s going to keep you safe, Kate?”

  “Glock’s a good cop. He’s former military and rock solid. We’ll be fine.”

  His sigh tells me he’s not assuaged. “Do me a favor and be careful, will you?”

  “I always am. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  After we disconnect, I realize we didn’t talk about him or how he’s dealing with the release of Joey Ferguson.

  CHAPTER 28

  A little past midnight, I’m in my office with Glock and T.J. I’ve just briefed them on everything I know about the Hochstetler case and the three recent murders.

  T.J. speaks first. “So you think this Ruth Weaver person is going to make a move on Blue Branson?”

  I nod. “If we’re right and she’s targeting the people involved in the rape and attempted murder of her mother, she’s got at least one more target.”

  “Pretty strong motive,” Glock says.

  “Especially if you’re crazy,” T.J. adds.

  But Glock caught the open-ended nature of my statement. “You said ‘at least’ one more target. Do you have someone else in mind?”

  Rising, I go to the door and close it. Their eyes follow me as I go back to my desk and sit. “Norm Johnston was involved with this group and had previous knowledge of the crimes.”

  T.J. gapes at me. “Councilman Johnston?”

  I tell them about my conversation with Johnston. “He had previous knowledge … to a degree. I sent everything I have over to the prosecutor, and this is something he’s going to have to look at. I don’t know if he’ll bring charges.”

  “Even if he didn’t know at the time,” Glock says, “he found out shortly after. He could have come forward then.”

  “It’s tricky.” I tell them about the beating Johnston endured. “There was intimidation involved. He was a minor at the time. Still, under Ohio code, that could mean a complicity charge.”

  T.J. shrugs. “Hard to believe he kept his mouth shut all these years.”

  I look from man to man. “In any case, Johnston could also be in danger from this woman.” I turn my attention to T.J. “I want you to keep an eye on Norm Johnston’s place tonight. Park out of sight. Keep it unobtrusive. Keep your cell and radio handy. Wear your vest at all times.”

  “You got it.”

  “Glock and I are going to take Blue back to his place and camp out there. Keep Blue visible and see if she bites.”

  “Might get kind of dicey if she takes a shot at him through the window,” T.J. says.

  No one has anything to say about that.
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  * * *

  Glock and I find Blue lying on his cot with his back to the cell door.

  “Rise and shine,” Glock calls out as he approaches the cell.

  The preacher rolls to a sitting position, a crease from the pillow marring the left side of his face.

  “Do not move.” Glock unlocks the cell door and steps into the cell. “Relax and keep your hands where we can see them. All right?”

  “No problem,” Blue replies.

  I step into the cell, the ankle monitor in my hand. “Roll up your pants on your left leg,” I tell Blue.

  Never taking his eyes from mine, he leans forward and rolls up the hem of his slacks. A meaty white calf the circumference of a telephone pole comes into view. When the hem is rolled up to just below his knee, I cross to him and kneel. “I’m placing a GPS monitoring device on your person,” I tell him.

  “I see that.” Blue watches me place the monitor around his ankle. “Aren’t those things for house arrest?” he asks.

  “Sure. House arrest,” Glock says from his place at the cell door. “Only you’re going to have two armed babysitters. So keep your shit cool. You got that?”

  “I got it. Where are we going?”

  “Your place.” I roll down the pants leg. “We believe Wanetta Hochstetler’s daughter is going to attempt to murder you.”

  “Her daughter?” Incredulity rings in his voice.

  “Maybe she’s your daughter, Blue.”

  He stares at me, blinking. His mouth forms words, but no sound emerges from his throat, and I feel a small, cruel sense of satisfaction.

  “This is your chance to redeem yourself.” I move away from him and stand. “You interested?”

  “I’m interested.” Regaining his composure, he bends to roll down his pants and then gets to his feet. “Whatever you think of me, I’ll help anyway I can.”

  “That’s big of you,” I say.

  Glock hands me the black Kevlar vest and I pass it to Blue. “I think you know what this is,” I tell him. “Put it on. Under your shirt.”

  He stares at me as he unbuttons his shirt and takes it off. I keep my eyes on his as the pasty skin and sagging flesh of his chest come into view. “How do you know she has a daughter?” he asks.

  “I went to Pennsylvania,” I tell him.

  Setting his shirt on the bunk, he shoves his arms through the openings of the vest. “Are they together?” he asks. “Wanetta Hochstetler and her … daughter?”

  Instead of answering, I glance over at Glock, who steps forward and tugs the vest closed and smoothes down the Velcro closures.

  “So we go to my place and wait for them to show?” Blue asks as he buttons his shirt.

  “That’s about the size of it.” I hand him the keys to his truck. “You’re driving. Officer Maddox is riding shotgun. And I do mean shotgun, so don’t do anything stupid.”

  “I think I’ve used up my quota of stupid,” he says.

  “You’re not going to get an argument from us on that,” Glock tells him.

  * * *

  I don’t like the idea of Blue getting behind the wheel any more than I like the idea of using him as bait. But despite the heinous nature of his past crimes, I don’t believe he has any intention of harming anyone or running. The one thing I do know is that if the sting is going to be successful, Ruth Weaver must believe Blue is alone and free of police surveillance.

  We’re at the police station, standing outside the interview room. “Here’s how it’s going to go down,” I tell Blue. “Once you reach your house, you’ll pull into the garage and park just like you always do. Once the garage door is closed, you and Officer Maddox will go inside. Did you leave any lights on?”

  “Nope. Never do.”

  “Are there any curtains open?”

  “Kitchen, I think. There’s a window above the sink, and I got a bird feeder out there.”

  “Since those curtains are open, do not turn on any lights until Officer Maddox takes his position in the hallway outside the bedrooms. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “I want Officer Maddox’s eyes on you at all times, Blue. If you screw that up, the deal is off and we take you back to jail and I’ll lobby heavily when it comes time for the prosecutor to file charges. Do you understand?”

  “I got it.”

  “Once Officer Maddox is in position, I want you to turn on all the lights. I want you to open the drapes or blinds. Make yourself visible from outside. If there’s a TV in your living room, I want it on and I want you on the sofa, visible through the front window.”

  He nods.

  “What’s behind the house?” I ask Blue.

  “Woods.”

  “Lots of places to hide back there,” Glock puts in.

  “Do you have a back patio?” I ask Blue.

  He nods.

  “We believe Jerrold McCullough was accosted on his back patio. We found pieces of a broken mug that had been swept over the side. If you want to move around, you can go out onto the patio, as if you’re enjoying the fresh air.”

  At his nod, I address Glock, “I’ll be parked next door at Brewer’s Salvage Yard. I’ll have my cell and the radio. And a pretty good view of Blue’s house and front yard, but I can’t see the back from there.”

  Blue speaks up. “You can see the backyard from the master bedroom.” He looks at Glock. “I can show you if you want.”

  Glock frowns at him. “I’ll figure it out. You just do as you’re told.”

  “Give me a few minutes to get into position at the salvage yard,” I tell Glock. “There are a couple of places I can park and not be seen from the street or Blue’s place.”

  “You got it, Chief.” He gives me a let’s-do-this nod. “Watch your back.”

  “You, too.”

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, I’m in the Explorer with the vehicle wedged between a corrugated fence and the forklift used to move scrap metal. A foot-wide section of fence is missing, which gives me a decent view of Branson’s house and front yard. I’ve been there only a few minutes when I see the flash of headlights and then Blue’s Mustang barrels down the lane. The twin headlight beams play over the facade of the house. The security light blinks on and the garage door rolls up. I try, but even with the vehicle illuminated by the garage light, I can’t see Glock. So far, so good.

  A moment later, the garage door rolls down. Another minute, and a light appears in the front window. My cell vibrates against my hip, and Glock’s name pops up on the display. “The eagle has landed,” he says.

  “Roger that. I’m in place. How’s the view?”

  “I’m in the rear bedroom. I can see the backyard to the fence from here.”

  “Good.” I pause. “Blue behaving himself?”

  “Like an angel.”

  “Make sure he stays visible,” I say. “Going to be a long night. Let’s do everything we can to draw this woman out.”

  “Got it.”

  I end the call and settle in for the wait.

  * * *

  By 4:30 a.m., I’m stiff and cold and convinced the entire operation is a bust. Not only am I stretching the rules by involving Blue, but I’m also starting to think I was a fool for thinking it would work. Of course, I went into this knowing there was a high probability that Ruth Weaver wouldn’t show. I could spend a week parked in this junkyard, and it could all be a waste. Still, it was worth a shot, but disappointing nonetheless.

  I’ve talked to Glock six times and Mona twice in the last three and a half hours, eaten an energy bar I found in my glove compartment that was a month past its expiration date, and left my vehicle to pee in the weeds next to a totaled ’72 Ford LTD.

  I’m thinking about throwing in the towel—at least for the night—when my cell vibrates. I glance down to see Mona’s name on the display. “Hey, Mona.”

  “Chief, I’m sorry to bother you, but I thought you should know … Hoch Yoder called for you a few minutes ago. Wouldn’t say what h
e wanted, but he sounded … strange. I offered to patch him through, but he started talking about souls and forgiveness and then he just hung up.”

  I pause, trying to ignore the twinge of worry threading through my gut. “Do you know where he was calling from?”

  “That Amish community pay phone at Hogpath Road and the township road.”

  “Did you call him back?”

  “I let it ring like twenty times, but he didn’t pick up.”

  I sigh. “There’s nothing going on here. I’m going to call this off for now and head out to the Yoder place to make sure everything’s okay.”

  “You want me to let Glock know?”

  “I’ll call him,” I tell her. “Thanks for the heads-up.” I hit End and dial Glock. “We need to wrap this up,” I say, and tell him about the call from Hoch Yoder.

  “You want me to meet you out there?” he asks.

  “I’ve got it. I don’t expect any trouble, but I’m a little concerned. He was pretty upset when I told him about his mother.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “Take Blue back to the station and put him in a cell.” I choose my next words with care because I don’t want to seem paranoid. But I know this is one of those situations when paranoid isn’t necessarily a bad thing. “Stay with him until I get back.”

  “Ten four.”

  * * *

  I cruise by the phone booth Hoch used on my way to the Yoder place, but there’s no one there. The closer I get, the more convinced I become that there’s something wrong. I can’t imagine Hoch calling the police at four thirty in the morning unless there’s a problem. I’m also aware that Hoch, along with his half sister, both have a motive for murder.

  The black trunks of naked apple trees blur by as I head toward the farm. I find my eyes combing the ditches on either side of the road, looking for a buggy or pedestrian—anything out of the norm. The fruit stand is closed up and dark, so I speed past and make a left into the lane. Slinging mud, gravel pinging in the wheel wells of the Explorer, I barrel toward the house. A hard stop, and I’m out of the vehicle and jogging toward the house.

  Hoch’s wife, Hannah, comes through the door as I reach the steps. “Chief Burkholder?”